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Troy Wilson
Name: Troy Wilson Seeming: Fairest Kith: Dancer Court: Spring '(formerly Winter) Freehold: 'Austin (formerly San Antonio) Virtue: Charity Vice: Lust Pronouns: He / His / Him Pinterest: Troy Wilson Commonly Known Description: Pretty and playful, it is rumored that Troy's greatest source of sorrow is his inability to get along with anyone. He isn't able to carry on a conversation for long without alienating someone, usually by his cocky self-assurance, his near-compulsive flirting, or his 'hilarious' practical jokes that frequently aren't. He does seem to want to help people, in his own earnest way, but he's just really, really, really terrible at it. Background: Troy is deeply in love with both Milada and Rococo, while being utterly convinced that he is unworthy of them and that the best gift he can give them is to gracefully step aside when they come to their senses and realize the depth of their mistake in associating with him. He knew Milada in her durance, when he used to "volunteer" to be tortured in the place of others; he knew Rococo later, when the Romancer was searching for Felix and in need of credulous Changelings who would give him necessary access to Freehold resources. Personality: Mantle: Important Dates Winter 2018: Moved to Austin freehold. Songs Smile by Lonestar Omen When you cast Omen 1 on Troy Wilson, there is a flickering sensation for a moment, as if the Wyrd were thumbing through a long series of very similar events before choosing one--perhaps at random--to show. Only then do you receive a vision. The delicate wine glass tumbles to the ground, red wine splashing in an arc, before it hits--and shatters, completely and irrevocably, against the stones. The cup-bearer, a delicate Fairest girl, freezes in place, blanching alabaster-white as a look of terror comes over her face. She is a lovely girl, tall and frail, with dark leather wings that drape sensually against her cool skin. The perfect picture of a True Fae's pretty bed-mate, she was almost certainly put out here to serve tonight as mere decoration... or punishment. Now she has failed at the former and will be subjected in the most severe fashion to the latter. Each of the other servants--Chatelaines, mostly, a few other Wizened, and a scattering of other, equally decorative Fairests--holds something in their hands, and there is the sense of a delicate and intricate dance that has just been disrupted. A hush falls the Changelings as they look down at their feet, trying hard to avoid the eyes of the Mistress and the imposing guest she's been entertaining here in her private chamber, a cruel-faced fae-man who watches the servants with an undisguised thirst for their pain. The Mistress slowly turns to the terrified girl, a storm building on her face... ...when suddenly there is a terrible crash, food flying everywhere, as someone bearing two very full plates of food lands almost in the Mistress's lap. He doesn't look like Troy, not really, other than being tall and skinny with dark hair--he is gangly and hunched, with the pinched look of Wizened Drudges--but the words that come out of his mouth, there among the broken plates and spilled food, are unmistakable. "Whoops!" He laughs. "Hey, lookit that, butterfingers. Guess I shouldn't have been trying to spin them on one finger, huh? Or at least not while spinning myself around." He flings one arm around the shoulder of the furious Gentry with her soiled, ruined gown. "You know what, though, one of these days I'm gonna get that trick perfect, and then you are just gonna love me, babe. Won't be able to keep your hands off me." He grins. Then, deliberately, he reaches down to where a smooth red sauce has spilled all over the fae woman's breast, runs one finger through it, and licks it off with a suggestive expression. "Hey, wow, compliments to the chef. You should try this--or maybe you should," he adds with a leer to her companion. "You know, I think red's really your color?" In short order he is in a private room, naked, chained to a bed by both wrists, and waiting for the torturer to arrive. When a voice issues from the shadows, however, there is an undercurrent of grimacing annoyance, and the sure sense that this is not Troy's first time--nor even his second or third or fourth time--being punished for such distracting infractions. "You. Again, you. Am I being punished?" the ST for remainder of Omen text. Short Version: A vision of being tortured by Milada. Category:NPC Category:San Antonio Category:Winter Category:Austin Category:Spring